


reveil en sursaut d'un rêve

by Ameiaa



Category: EXO, Jongin - Fandom, Kai - Fandom, KaiSoo - Fandom, Kyungsoo - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameiaa/pseuds/Ameiaa
Summary: Title: reveil en sursaut d'un rêvePairing: kaisooRating: MGenre: tbh idkLength: just 900+ wordsSummary: It's time to rest, says Jongin. Kyungsoo refuses. He can't rest.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai
Kudos: 4





	reveil en sursaut d'un rêve

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: They're doctors here, I guess

The OCR is ominous when Kyungsoo steps in. The lights are out and the chill air concocted by the spirit of sleep and the centralized air-conditioner haunts the skin. He shivers but that isn’t enough to wake him up. Instead, it’s a sadistic crooning invitation to bed. Kyungsoo realizes that it’s time to encounter death again. He always does, anyway; like when he stitches skin, when he touches organs lacking black and white keys, and wash hands in sloshing red velvet marking the thin, thin line between life and shut down. Sleep is the same thing as waking is dying. He’s up and he’s dead, soulless, and merely operating on SOPs of surgery, medical practices, and social etiquettes. He sleeps and he is, in some aspect, kicking embers in hell. So he clambers up to the bed and closes his eyes. Hello, Death.  
  
Light claws behind his eyelids.  
  
“What—”  
  
“Sorry,” Comes Jongin’s voice. Kyungsoo knows that’s Jongin’s; he could be wrong about the difference of chlorpropamide and chlorpromazine but never Jongin’s voice. The door shuts with a faint click and some mechanism whispering underneath brass metals followed by light steps.  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t respond to the voice but he turns his back, grasping for sleep. _No Jongin today, please. Just sleep, please._ What grasps him is Jongin’s long fingers carding his hair, pads of the fingertips first sliding against his scalp, then the length of his fingers gliding the slope of his head. He faces Jongin, now, and he’s greeted with a meek smile.   
  
“You’re too tired.”  
  
“I’m always, always tired.”  
  
Jongin settles himself next to Kyungsoo’s body and they’re spooning. Kyungsoo regards the way the sleeves of Jongin’s dress shirt gather and crumple on the vertex of his arms and oddly he finds it sexy, just as sexy as Jongin’s long legs decide to wrap itself around his own shorter ones. Kyungsoo realizes, the whole of him – yet again – is facing Jongin; body, face, and soul, and all.  
  
“Rest, please.” And the pleading resonates with a quivering sigh. “You’re too tired.”  
  
Kyungsoo knows he is tired. It’s not just the residency, not just the fucking job. It’s Jongin. He’s tired of Jongin but he couldn’t rest, he can’t.  
  
“I stitch things up,” Kyungsoo says because the ringing of Jongin’s shaky request replays against the blank wall overhead and it’s too loud.  
  
“You don’t stitch yourself.”  
  
“I could if I want to.”  
  
“Would you want to?”  
  
The air dies.  
  
Kyungsoo dies.  
  
Should he stitch himself up?  
  
“Jongin, I’m tired.”  
  
“I know. Rest.”  
  
“No – Jongin, I’m _tired_.”  
  
Kyungsoo pricks himself with the needle now, he’s stitching himself up now, and the thread tugs too harshly because he’s stitching with heavy hands and with a heavy heart. He has forgotten to give himself some anaesthesia. He tells himself, _Jongin is anaesthesia_.  
  
“I know. I _know._ I’m sorry.”  
  
“Fix me.” He can’t stitch himself so he gives the needle to Jongin and he waits.  
  
“I’m broken.” Jongin whispers, the warmth of his breath creating schisms of temperatures on Kyungsoo’s neck.  
  
“Then,” Kyungsoo holds his breath, “break me, too.”  
  
And it’s always like this: Kyungsoo facing Jongin, and Jongin telling him to stop and Kyungsoo saying okay, then Kyungsoo saying no he can’t, then Jongin approving because he can’t either and they end up fucking.  
  
“Fuck!” Kyungsoo’s breath hitches when Jongin enters him. He whimpers. He can never adjust to this; to this setup. Jongin thrusts inside him again and Kyungsoo remembers details spewed during Anatomy 204 and Biology 202. He moans, and he doesn’t realize that he's close to sobbing. He touches himself, strokes himself.  
  
It’s always, always like this. He’s always, always too tired but he can’t rest.  
  
“I—I love---” his confession is muffled under Jongin’s hand. At first, he doesn’t know why his mouth is covered until----  
  
“Shit, Kyungsoo.” Jongin thrusts one more time and he releases ecstasy and Kyungsoo’s ecstatic and he cries Jongin’s name probably too loud (thank goodness for the hand covering his mouth). His heel glides from the end of Jongin’s backbone to Jongin’s thigh as he limps and Jongin falls next to him. He’s folded into a neat pile of just-fucked under Jongin’s arms and he loses sleep.  
  
“Shit, Kyungsoo,” Jongin mutters without the aggression, without the high.  
  
“I know. Shit.” Kyungsoo mumbles and moves away a bit.  
  
Here they are, again.  
  
“I wish we’re still college kids, you know?” Jongin reaches out and curls his fingers around the spaces between Kyungsoo’s and they’re holding hands and cuddling again. “We stay in one dorm, and then we sneak out to draw graffiti on walls so that the Fine Arts students get accused of vandalism.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“You always come with me.”  
  
“Because you drag me. You always drag me with you.”  
  
“We’re one package, Soo.”  
  
“Back in college, we were.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Would you…want to rest?” It’s the first time Kyungsoo’s asked about this. Usually, it’s Jongin telling him to do so.  
  
“I can’t.” the truth scrapes against Kyungsoo’s throat, and it comes out hoarse.  
  
Jongin’s phone rings and Kyungsoo hides from another truth. When Jongin unlocks his phone light glares at Kyungsoo and the photo on the wallpaper laughs at him.  
  
“She’s really pretty.” Kyungsoo whispers but Jongin doesn’t hear because he returns the missed call.  
  
“Babe?” Jongin sounds unsure as he watches Kyungsoo turn into a silhouette eaten by the darkness.  
Kyungsoo turns around, adjusting his shirt and pulling up his pants. At least, he could fix his clothes and look decent. At least, he could fix himself, in a way. He gets up and leaves the room. Maybe the cafeteria food wouldn’t be so bad today. 


End file.
